


Outlaw

by supermassivebutthole



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: 1930s, AH - Freeform, AU, Happy Ending, Heist, Historical, bank robberies, basically a bonnie and clyde au with rosalie and emmett and jas an eddie as goons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermassivebutthole/pseuds/supermassivebutthole
Summary: Rosalie Hale is beautiful, rich, and engaged to be married to the most eligible bachelor in Rochester, New York. Her life is on it’s way to being perfect. But one night, Rosalie finds out what her fiance is truly capable of--finds out that agreeing to marry Royce King II would be as as foolish as signing her own death warrant.Then Rosalie meets Emmett McCarty, famous outlaw, wanted in nine states for train hijackings and armed robberies. She knows exactly the kind of man Emmett McCarty is, so she takes the only chance she’s ever likely to get, and promises him everything, in return for getting her out of New York.
Relationships: Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

> If this draft doesn't leave my draft folder right now it's going in the trash bin so TAKE it from me!! Take it so im forced to write more!!

_Adoration is a box which holds many things. Within it is security, safety, prosperity, and happiness. When I am adored, I am alright. Without it, I have nothing; there is no vessel in which to hold my potential._

When I was young, my greatest goal in life was to acquire the admiration of many, and keep their good opinion with my good behavior. Because I was raised wealthy, blessed with beauty, and could lean upon the good social standing of my family, I almost succeeded in that goal. Unfortunately, a good opinion will not save you from everything. Specifically, it will not save you from men.

Some men are born to victimize—to grind others to dust under their heel. No matter how hard you try to avoid these men, they will find you eventually. They spend their lives looking for soft, pampered souls, and when they find yours, they will try to crush it. When that happens, you must do as I did. You must run.

I met the man who would try to crush my soul in the Spring of 1934. His name was Royce King, and it was an arranged meeting. Royce King’s father owned the bank where my father worked, the only bank in Rochester, New York that had been largely sheltered from the financial collapse that had devastated that rest of the country. Because of this, our family lived luxuriously for our time, and the King family strolled around Rochester as gods among men.

My mother wanted desperately to make me one half of a socially advantageous pairing, but the Depression had severely slimmed the marital pickings. Many of the most affluent families in Rochester had fallen on hard times, and thus, had fallen out of the pool of eligibility. Royce King was one of the few age appropriate bachelors left in our social circle.

She knew she was aiming high in trying to set me up with the wealthiest man in town. The King family traveled extensively, so Royce could just as easily have found a wife in London or Paris or any such place. As usual, my clear advantage was my reputation.

Everyone knew the name Rosalie Hale. I'd been given everything I'd ever wanted, and turned down some things other girls could only dream of having. I'd had to reject a few marriage proposals from men who didn't fit my mother's criteria, and those incidents had helped to create around me an aura of unattainability. I was not a mere girl, but a prize to be won.

The day Royce first set his eye on me, Mother had sent me to deliver my father his lunch at work, insisting that I wear something pretty and put up my hair. As I crossed the lobby to the teller's counter to fetch my father, the clicking of my shoes on the marble floor caught the attention of a group of business men who had been standing around, chatting quietly. They all turned to stare at me. I was used to that, and let them stare, pretending that I didn't see them at all. After a moment, everyone returned to the discussion, except for Royce King. He never took his eyes off of me.

The first bouquet of roses arrived at my door the following afternoon, with a note that read _To Miss Rosalie Hale, from Royce King II._ The second bouquet came three days later, with a note that read _To Miss Rosalie Hale, the most beautiful girl in New York, from Royce King II._ The third bouquet arrived, attached to the arm of Royce himself. He grinned at me, his smooth gray eyes sparkled, and it was all I could do but fall to the ground with excitement.

"Your eyes are so blue they're violet, Miss Hale." He said.

No one had ever given me that compliment, so it was a novel thing that I held closely during our entire courtship. He reminded me of it periodically when, instead of bringing roses, he would bring a small bundle of delicate violets. My mother thought the violet bundles were cheap, and that I should demand roses, but I adored them in spite of her, and hung them all around my bedroom to remind myself of our strolls through the park and quiet drives through the countryside.

It was on one of these strolls that he proposed to me. It was like the first day all over again, my knees wobbled, my legs threatening to collapse as he vowed to be by my side forever. I was already saying yes before he finished speaking.

My very being buzzed with anticipation for the wedding. I daydreamed about the dress, a large estate in the hills, a baby on my arm and a small child tugging at my dress. They would have my beauty and Royce's charm. My life would finally be perfect.

My family had never been more proud of me. My father beamed, my mother glowed. My two brothers seemed wary, but that was to be expected. They were only children, at eleven and fourteen, and had no understanding of the importance of adult things.

My dearest friend Vera was to be my maid of honor, and we spent every afternoon before her husband came home doing what she called _planning the particulars_ , as her lovely, bright eyed little boy, Henry, sat on her lap or played with blocks on the carpet.

I'd been terribly jealous of Vera when she'd gotten married—young, only seventeen—to a man she was truly, deeply in love with. I wasn't jealous of the man, he was a simple carpenter, Arthur Stanley, and he wasn't able to supply Vera with much beside a home to call her own and that adorable, dimpled baby. I was jealous of her happiness, the perfectness of her life. That last night I wasn't so jealous, because I was sure that soon I would have everything that she had and more.

That night, Vera's husband missed the streetcar home from work, so he arrived much later than usual, well after sunset. We hadn't noticed, having been swept into last minute plans. We were going over flower choices when he finally swept through the door.

Henry immediately scrambled up from his place on the carpet and ran to his father, wrapping his tiny arms around the man's legs.

“Oh, hello there! Did you have a good day with mommy?” Arthur asked.

“And Ms. Rosie!” Henry said, pointing to me as his father scooped him into the air.  
  
“Hello, Arthur.” I greeted him, smiling.

“Rose.”

“Its quite late, I should be getting home.” I scooped up the various swatches and sketches from the sitting room table and held them under my arm. I turned to Vera. “Thank you so much for your help, as always.”

“Of course.” She smiled, “It's dark, Arthur wouldn't mind accompanying you home, would you, Art?”

“Of course not.” He responded.  
  
As much as I dreaded walking through the streets alone at such a late hour, the idea of being accompanied through the dark streets by a married man, a carpenter from the poor side of town, could be social suicide only weeks before my wedding. “No, thank you. I enjoy the tranquility. And this is a beautiful neighborhood, I'm more than safe.”

Arthur Stanley shrugged, moving past me to go sit with his wife and child as I pulled on my overcoat. “Always doing things your own way, Rose, that's what I like about you.” He kissed Vera on the cheek when he thought I couldn't see, and the envy returned, flooded into my cheeks. Royce never kissed me quite that way.

I hurriedly gave them my goodbyes and ducked out into the cold. A bitter wind ripped through me as I stood on the front porch, planning my route, and I pulled my coat more tightly around me. I didn't want to be out in the weather any longer than necessary, so rather than going the long way around, I chose to cut through the commercial district that separated the two neighborhoods.

I was a few streets away from my house when I spotted them, a group of drunks, standing under a broken streetlight, laughing. It occurred to me only then that I could have called my father to escort me home. And then he called my name.

“Rosie!” Royce yelled, and the others laughed stupidly. From a distance, hadn't seen how well dressed they were. It was Royce and some of his friends, some of the men I'd seen around Rochester.

  
“Here's my Rose.” He said as I came closer, swinging a drunk arm to grab me. I clutched my envelope full of wedding things,staying cautiously out of his grasp. “You're late, we're cold, you kept us waiting so long.”

I'd never seen him drunk before. The only times I'd seen him drink at all were during toasts at parties. He said he didn't like champagne. I realized then that his preference was for something stronger.

  
He had a new friend with him, someone he'd told me about. The friend of a friend, come up from Atlanta.

“What did I tell you, John?” Royce crowed, finally succeeding in grabbing my arm and pulling me closer.

The man named John was dark haired and suntanned. He looked me over like a horse he was buying. “It's hard to tell. She's all covered up.”

  
That's when I tried to make a run for it. I yanked my arm painfully out of his grasp and moved away, but even drunk, he was too fast. He slapped his hand clumsily across my throat and pulled me close to him, pinning me against his chest.

  
“Royce, I can’t _breathe.”_ I gasped, clawing uselessly at his hand.

John laughed, grabbed me by the collar of my jacket, and tore it viciously, sending brass buttons clattering to the pavement. “How about now?” He asked.

I felt the winter wind against my bare collarbones, and let out a ragged sob. My knees buckled, adding extra pressure to Royce’s grip around my throat. John suddenly had his hands on me, all over me, pinching and prodding as if I were a piece of fruit at a market stall. My struggling was useless, Royce had me firmly against his chest, my scream didn't register above a whisper with the pressure his fingers had on my throat.

As a last ditch effort to get them away from me, I slammed one of my pointed heels into Royce's foot, and he screamed, wheeling backwards. John dove to catch me with his open arms, but I dipped under him and darted out into the street, leaving the heel behind as I did.

It was wickedly cold; especially with my overcoat forgotten next to Royce on the pavement, but I kicked off my other heel and ran frantically home, sharp rocks tearing at my feet. I heard Royce calling out to me, but in my panic it took me a block or two to realize what he had been saying.

_You’re going to regret that, Rosie. You're going to regret that._

The worst part of the whole ordeal was just how many men had watched it. Of course it hurt and terrified me to know what my fiance was truly capable of, but what had haunted me that night, as I tried in vain to sleep, was the faces of all the men who had watched.

I recognized some of them as friends of Royce or my father. I wondered how I’d ever be able to show my face again. As I lay in the dark, too troubled even to cry, I pressed a hand against the tender spot on my neck, a bruise in the shape of my fiance's fingers.

I rose before dawn the next morning. I hadn't slept. I'd been thinking. My body was sore as I got out of bed, places I hadn't even realized had been touched were sore, I ached as I moved toward the guilded vanity across from my bed.

 _Daddy won't let me leave him._ I knew it, there was no question. Royce was set to own half of Rochester, our engagement was no doubt the best thing that had ever happened to the my family.

Sitting in front of the mirrored vanity, I examined myself. There was a small welt on my cheek where his hand had connected with my face before wrapping around my neck. Both the bruise on my face and neck were going purple around the edges, but luckily, they were quite light. I'd be able to cover them with a bit of powder. Mechanically, I covered up what could be covered, and then removed the curlers from my hair, lending all my focus to the task so that I could leave what I was about to do for later.

Everyone was still asleep as I crept downstairs into the dining room. I padded into the kitchen, and opened the silverware drawer. I ran my cold, trembling hands over the silver, finely polished twice a month by the woman that came by whose only job was to maintain the silverware. Judging by the delicate care my mother afforded the pieces, they must be quite expensive. But I'd heard that only junkies stole silverware from family.

I opened the china cabinet. Fine crystal sat in beautiful rows, used for only three dinners in recent memory. No one would miss this except for it's sentimental value. Most of the collection had been gifts. I closed the cabinet and stumbled through to the sitting room.

I couldn't imagine what I was supposed to do. It seemed like such a flagrant violation of my family's trust to steal from them, no matter why. I sat with my head in my hands, until I heard my mother stir and descend the stairs.  
  
“You're up early, sweetheart.” She said when she saw me, “And you were out so late last night. Did you get a ride home from Vera's husband?”

“Yes, I got a ride home. I'm sorry I was out so late.” Mother had no idea that Vera had married the sort of man that took the trolley to work. Her family wasn't wealthy enough to be of much interest to the local gossip, and I'd kept the information private, so that I wouldn't be forbade from seeing her anymore. I hoped she wouldn't find out until after the wedding, or else she might not let Vera be maid of honor.

Mother got a head start breakfast, while I guiltily eyed the pearl necklace around her neck. It was the sort of perk that marriage afforded a woman; the right to be decorated with things of value, a secret kind of collateral, a promise of financial security if something went _wrong_.

Mother dreamed of not having to cook for the family, and so went about the breakfast preparations with a sort of grim acceptance. Knowing that her carefully manicured fingers also cracked eggs and ground coffee was a reminder that our social standing was not as high as any of us would like it to be.

She just about finished when the boys came downstairs, flanked immediately by my father, already dressed in a smart business suit. My brothers ignored me as they passed by, headed straight for the kitchen table, which was all for the best because I was anxiously chewing at my thumbnail, wondering if Royce would come by. I knew he wouldn't, it was a weekday, and he would have to go to work at the same time that my father did, but maybe he would take the day off. Maybe he was unpredictable. Dangerous. I didn't know anymore.

“Hello, Rosebud.” My father greeted as he passed into the kitchen.  
  
“Good morning, Daddy.” I replied distantly. I wanted to beg him to let me out of the marriage to Royce, explain to him the horrible thing he'd done to me the night before, but I knew what he would do, what he always had done. He would do whatever looked best—In this case, forcing me to marry Royce King II.

“What are you doing moping around over there?” My mother called from the kitchen, “Come eat, dear.” I sat down in between my brothers and was passed a plate of food. I spooned bites into my mouth, chewing and swallowing without tasting.

Before my father left for work, he gave my mother a kiss on the cheek, patted my forehead, and scruffed the hair of my two brothers. I watched them squirm, laughing, a little too old for the fatherly affection, and wondered what they would think if they knew I was about to flee the state. I suspected they simply wouldn't believe it. I could hardly believe it myself. There was only one thing I knew to be true, I would be signing my own death certificate if I agreed to marry Royce King II.

As my father left through the front door, he called out to me, “Some flowers for you, Rosie.” My blood ran cold. I stood up numbly to fetch my flowers. Up until now, Royce had only ever delivered roses and the occasional bundle of violets. But now, my father stood in front of the door with a single pink rhodedendron in his hand. There was a cared attached. I took the flower, and when I opened the card, one of the brass buttons from my coat fell onto the hardwood floor.

_What thorns you have, beautiful Rose._

My father was turning to leave again, briefcase in hand. I had to think fast. “Um, daddy?”

“Yes, Rosebud?”

“I'd like to buy Vera a gift, for being my maid of honor. Can I please have some money to run down to the jewelers?”

My father smiled, “Of course.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out two crisp one dollar bills.


End file.
